


Nightmare

by untouchable



Category: Veronica Mars (TV)
Genre: Age Difference, Enemies to Lovers, F/M, Implied/Referenced Underage Drinking, Season 2, Swearing, implied car sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-22
Updated: 2019-07-22
Packaged: 2020-07-11 12:08:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,276
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19927843
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/untouchable/pseuds/untouchable
Summary: What is it about this girl? He can’t decide if he wants to fight her or fuck her. He almost hates her for it. Because Veronica Mars is fucking annoying, and the bane of his existence, even if she did grow up to have a distractingly pretty mouth.





	Nightmare

**Author's Note:**

> Takes place somewhere in S2 after episode 16; the timeline is kind of vague though and not really important.

“I need a favor.”

When he looks up, she’s standing in front of his desk, giving her brightest, perkiest smile, and it’s eight in the fucking morning, he hasn’t even had his coffee yet, and Lamb just—he can’t deal with Veronica Mars right now. Or ever. He seriously needs to find a way to ban this girl from the building. 

Lamb leans back in his chair. He gives her a bored half-smile. “Sorry, Mars. The answer’s still no—I won’t take you to prom.”

“Damn. And I bought you a corsage and everything.” She rolls her eyes. “I’m working on a case and I need your help. Feel like being useful for once?”

Lamb puts a piece of gum in his mouth and takes his sweet time chewing. His eyes flicker over her body, and he puts as much disdain as he possibly can into the look, but he can’t help getting distracted by the way her jeans are riding low on her hips, exposing a strip of milky white skin below her navel. He can see her hip bones. He imagines what his hand would look like right there in that spot, fingers pressing into the pale skin of her waist. 

Lamb snaps his gum and slowly brings his gaze to her face. “Naturally, you came to me because we’re best pals, huh?” he mocks, tilting his head. “What’s the deal, Nancy Drew? Did the Hardy boys leave you in the lurch?”

“If you mean Duncan and Logan, Duncan’s gone, as you know—”

“And you have no idea where he went, right?”

“—and Logan and I aren’t too friendly at the moment.”

“Some soap opera you’ve got going on there. You’ve gone back and forth between Logan Echolls and the Kane kid so many times I’ve lost count. You’re a real heartbreaker, Mars.”

It’s not much of an insult, so he’s surprised when her cute little nose scrunches up as her face twists with genuine frustration. 

“Yeah? Well, let’s examine your love life, shall we? I mean, Madison Sinclair, really? What...did you lose a bet or something? I mean, of all the barely legal, bottle-blonde bimbos in Neptune—”

Lamb stands up. The door’s shut, but Veronica’s nearly yelling, and he knows Sacks is a nosy bastard and Inga has ears like a hawk. He lowers his voice, but he doesn’t let the turn in conversation spook him. Her eyes are flashing with anger, and he knows that glare of hers probably does wonders in intimidating high schoolers, but Lamb meets her gaze unflinchingly, arms planted on the desk as he leans down toward her. 

“How the fuck do you know about that?”

She gives an exaggerated shudder. “I saw the security footage of the elevator. Gave me nightmares.”

After a moment, he forces the tension from his shoulders. He can tell she’s not here to out him to everyone—she’s just going to hold it over his head a little, dangle the knife, to get back at him over the jab he’d made. 

Lamb smiles, slow and simmering with amusement. “Hmm. Did it keep you up at night?”

He’s taken aback by the way she hesitates, the movement of her throat as she visibly swallows, and he isn’t quite sure what to make of it. Of any of it, really. Because Veronica Mars often barges into his office demanding he do her bidding in that infuriating and superior tone of hers, but she never just appears and requests a _favor_. It’s new territory, it’s unsettling. It’s dangerous, _she’s_ dangerous—but Lamb’s known that for years. Slippery. He’d tried to tell those FBI assholes as much, but they hadn’t listened and now Duncan Kane is probably sipping cocktails on some remote beach with his fucking baby or whatever, and Veronica had known all along. Lamb may not be the best sheriff the county’s ever seen, but he isn’t stupid. 

“Maybe.”

“What?” He’s still staring at her, but he’s so lost in his own thoughts that he isn’t even sure what she’s talking about anymore. 

Veronica glances at the closed door, then, raising her chin, she looks back at him, shoulders squared. She’s tiny, but she always seems to take up the whole damn room. “Maybe it did,” she says quietly. “Keep me up at night, I mean.”

Lamb straightens up, crosses his arms, puts some distance between them. He doesn’t know what the hell she’s getting at. Is she going to lecture him for fucking her classmate? Jesus, what game is she playing? 

“Your daddy already blackmailed me with this. Might wanna try something else, just for originality’s sake.”

She runs a hand through her hair. “I didn’t come here to—ugh, you’re so obnoxious, has anybody ever told you that?”

“Only you. A few hundred times. But I can remember the days when you were singing a different tune.” He winks at her because he’s confused and pissed off and he wants to rile her up more. Something about seeing her all frazzled makes his blood rush. 

Veronica narrows her eyes at the mention of her childhood crush. “That was a long time ago.”

He smirks. Yeah, this is fun. “Was it? You’re still the same height.”

Her hands ball into fists, and Lamb’s suddenly glad there’s a desk between them. Because she may be small, but he knows what she’s capable of. However, though she’s clearly furious, instead of lashing out, she’s shouldering her bag and heading toward the door to his office. 

Still, Lamb continues, because he can’t help himself and because he wants to win. “You used to be such a nice kid, ya know. What happened?”

“Somebody told me to get a backbone. So I did.”

Veronica slams the door on the way out, and there is no victory here. In fact, now that she’s gone, Lamb feels kind of empty. 

* * *

A week later, he gets an “anonymous” tip about weed in Veronica’s locker, and Lamb knows Dick Casablancas’s voice before the kid even gets two words out—with all that money, you'd think 09ers would have something better to do than prank calling the local law enforcement. Still, he decides to follow through anyway, just because he can. 

When she flounces around the corner, he’s leaning against the wall of yellow lockers, thumbs in his belt. He’s alone—Principal Clemmons had declined to accompany him on the routine locker check, and Lamb’s grateful for that. Clemmons is a lot more irritating to deal with than the old principal had been, and Lamb’s holding a grudge against him for that very reason. He’s good at that, at holding grudges, apparently. 

So is Veronica. 

Her smile is sweet, but he can see the sharpness of it in the corners of her mouth. “What’re you doing here, Deputy? Aren’t you a little old to be in high school?”

He snorts. “Aren’t you a little old to be wearing a pink sweater?”

“I don’t think you have any right to mock people’s fashion choices, Mr. Brown Polyester.”

Well, she’s got him there. 

Lamb rolls his eyes, then nods at her locker. “Open it. Got a tip that you’re hiding illegal substances in here.” 

“Oh, so you’re not just here to find Madison? How is that fairytale romance going, by the way?”

He clenches his jaw. The hallway’s empty, but it won’t be for long. Secrets never stay secret for very long in Neptune. 

“That’s over. I ended it.” Lamb lets his face relax into an easy grin. “Don’t worry. You don’t have to be jealous.”

Veronica scoffs, turning to put in her locker combination. “What, did you get tired of hearing her complain about how _totally_ unfair it is that cheerleading isn’t considered a sport?”

“We weren’t doing a lot of talking together. If you catch my drift.”

Locker open, she steps back, waving a hand so that he hurries up. Lamb picks up her books, glances over the pens and notebooks at the bottom of her locker, and doesn’t find any pot, obviously. 

“Where’s all your spy gear?”

She looks smug. “Wouldn’t you like to know.”

Something about that look sends a jolt right to his groin. Jesus. What is it about this girl? He can’t decide if he wants to fight her or fuck her. He almost hates her for it. Because Veronica Mars is fucking annoying, and the bane of his existence, even if she did grow up to have a distractingly pretty mouth. 

“Maybe I would.”

Lusting after Keith’s daughter, after everything that’s happened, Lamb knows is a bad idea. It could even make him a bad person, but he was never a particularly good one to start with, so whatever. 

She blinks up at him. “I never divulge my secrets.” 

The bell rings. Students pour out of the classrooms, and Lamb takes a step back, realizing how close they’d become. When did that happen? Veronica closes her locker, letting it slam shut. The sound startles him slightly. He realizes his heart is racing. 

She mock-salutes him. “See you around, Deputy.”

“It’s _Sheriff_ ,” he corrects her, but Veronica has already vanished into the crowd. 

* * *

He’s drunk the next time he sees her, and at first, he isn’t even sure if it’s her. Because it’s Thursday night and he’s at a club in LA, and it’s his night off, and fuck, she isn’t supposed to be here. But that has never stopped Veronica Mars.

She’s wearing some ridiculous dress that barely covers her ass, and she’s laughing with a group of kids he doesn’t recognize, shiny hair reflecting in the dim light. Lamb must be staring at her, at Veronica, because the redhead he’d been chatting up makes a noise of ire before deserting him at the bar. He can’t make himself look away—he’s tried, shit, he’s been trying for far too long. He should stop this, whatever this is, because it’s crawling under his skin like a disease and eating him alive. Because jerking off to fantasies of bending Veronica over the hood of his cruiser isn’t enough any longer. Lamb wants more. He’s greedy, and he’s selfish, and he wants _more_. 

But standing across the room, surrounded by admirers and bathed in the glow of the yellow lamps on the wall, she seems so far away from him. Untouchable.

Fuck. What a nightmare his life has turned out to be.

He finishes his beer in one swift gulp and pays his tab before leaving. Lamb suddenly has the urge to get in his car and keep driving and not stop until Neptune is just the name of some Roman god and not a town at all. He’s done it before, the whole disappearing act. It would be so easy to leave everything behind. But Lamb isn’t sixteen anymore, so he tells himself to stop being so fucking dramatic, and he starts the car. 

Before he can drive away, the passenger door opens and a girl hops in. She smells like fruity shampoo and booze and sweat, and Lamb has to grip the wheel until his knuckles turn white to keep from reaching out to her in the dark.

“What?” he grinds out.

“I need a ride home,” says Veronica. 

Her voice is expectant, like she just assumes he’ll do whatever the hell she wants. She’s used to getting her way, he knows that. Even with all the shit she’s been through, somehow Veronica Mars ends up on top. That imagery quickly morphs into something indecent in his mind. Jesus Christ. Lamb shifts, hoping she can’t see that he’s suddenly half-hard. Then, angry at himself for caring so damn much about what she thinks of him, he reaches down and visibly adjusts himself in his jeans. He wants her to shoot him a glare of disgust and then they can fight and things can be normal. 

Instead, she just repeats herself. “I need a ride.”

“Don’t you have a car?”

“Clearly, I didn’t come here alone,” she says slowly, like she’s talking to a dumb child. “But my ride bailed and I saw you and figured—”

“What? You figured that I would chauffeur you home out of the goodness of my heart?”

“It’s not like you have anything better to do.”

He turns in the seat to face her fully. It’s a bad idea—seeing her in the moonlight takes his breath away. Also, her tits are almost falling out of her dress. Lamb licks his lips.

“You’re a menace to my sanity, do you know that? I should handcuff you to the roof rack while I drive back to Neptune.”

Veronica grins. “Kinky.”

Lambs snorts, and he doesn’t even bother hiding how he’s looking at her bare legs against the leather of his seats. “You think that’s kinky? Those high school boys really aren’t teachin’ you anything, huh?”

“You offering?”

He glances up and finds she’s staring intently at his face, at his lower lip, maybe. 

One side of his mouth curves up into a smile. “Honey, nobody knows his way around a pair of handcuffs better than me.”

Lamb studies her face as the silence stretches on, and he’s damn surprised about what he finds. Interest. Curious eyes and a little pink tongue darting out to wet her lips and—fuck, she looks interested. She looks like she _wants_ —

Veronica kisses him first. 

Lamb is glad she’s the one to close the distance between them, bring their mouths together, because he’s sure he’s going to hold it over her head later, but then Veronica puts her hand on his thigh and fuck, Lamb isn’t sure of anything anymore. Not when it comes to Veronica Mars.


End file.
